The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  Now they were passing through the lodge gates of Brookmoor. He’d been there in daylight hours and had observed with appreciation the modern building that was erected in the classical style of Robert Adam, though Alex knew Mr. Tavistock himself had overseen the design and building of the house. White stucco, Doric columns, bay windows, and graceful balconies made up a dignified front to a gracious manor home that was reached by way of a long drive lined with beech trees. Alongside the drive a brook percolated and splashed over a rocky, reed-bottomed bed.

  Tonight the house was all ablaze with candlelight, every window winking a bright invitation. But Alex could see the multitude of carriages huddled together in the stable yards and could well imagine the squeeze of people inside. Just like the parties he’d attended ad infinitum in London, this one would be hot, stuffy, tedious, and quite boring.

  Alex much preferred quality over quantity and would rather have spent the evening with a small group of people he sincerely cared about. But for the sake of Zach and Beth he’d go inside and make himself disgustingly agreeable. But it would not be easy, especially since he must play the proud and happy brother-in-law to a woman he constantly imagined lying naked and eager beneath him.

  The carriage stopped, and the footman opened the door for Alex to alight. He walked up the steps with his public smile firmly in place. He entered the house and found himself in the large entrance hall at the bottom of a wide oak staircase. There was a line of people ascending at a pace most excruciatingly slow. He skimmed the plumed, turbaned, bejeweled, bewigged, and pomaded heads of the gaily garbed line of guests till he saw Zach and Beth on the landing that led into the grand salon.

  Then Alex’s heart did a dreadfully disloyal thing. It pounded with joy at the sight of her, at the sight of Beth. As if she’d heard the telltale heartbeat above the din of wagging tongues, Beth turned and looked down the stairs, down past all the people, directly at Alex.

  Even from a distance Alex saw how Beth’s eyes lit up. He responded with a genuine smile reserved for private happiness, the sort of smile one did not display in a roomful of strangers. He glorified in her obvious delight in seeing him, but he soon sobered, considered how he must have disappointed her by coming late, and decided that the delighted expression she wore was merely the result of profound relief. After all, what would everyone say if Zach’s brother had not even bothered to attend his betrothal party? Relief and gratitude were the logical explanations for Beth’s happiness in seeing him. He would try not to hope for any other explanation.

  He wasn’t about to wait in the reception line, so Alex weaved his way through the crowd, ignoring the curious stares as he politely nudged his way down the hall to the library. Just as he’d hoped, the dim, book-lined chamber was empty. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it with a sigh. A single brace of candles shed a circle of light near the fireplace, and Alex spied a brandy decanter on a table situated just to the right of the mantelpiece. He immediately walked to the table, poured a moderate amount of liquor into a goblet, and drank down most of it in the first hasty gulp.

  Just then he heard a slight stirring behind him and turned around to discover himself not alone as he’d thought. A young man with a flushed face, a slack jaw, and a disheveled cravat lay unconscious on a sofa that faced away from the door. He appeared to be inebriated. A half-filled goblet on the floor in front of the man seemed to support this theory.

  “Poor wretch,” Alex grumbled to himself. “Driven to drink by some wilesome woman.” He realized how utterly unfair he sounded, but he wasn’t in the mood to be judicious and he sat down in a chair opposite the pathetic-looking fellow to nurse what was left of his own drink. Perhaps he was not in the mood to be judicious, but he would not embarrass his brother by casting up his accounts in the middle of the dance floor. No, while he could not think moderately, he could at least drink moderately.

  “Yes, old man,” Alex addressed his dormant companion, leaning back in the chair and crossing his outstretched legs at the ankles. “What a comfort it is to have someone to talk to. You must realize how difficult it is for me to be harboring the most scandalous feelings for my brother’s betrothed, and no one about to confide in, though I’ve never really wanted to tell my deepest thoughts to anyone except Zach. And I bloody well can’t tell him.” Alex frowned. “I think my valet suspects something’s afoot. The fellow must be fey.”

  The man turned on his back with a grunt. “Exactly,” Alex drawled. “So commonplace these sins of the flesh.” Alex rolled the stem of his goblet between his fingers, watching the play of candlelight on the glass. “Only thing is, I sometimes think there may be more to my attraction to Beth than wanting to bed her. Frightening thought, eh?”

  Naturally the man did not reply, and Alex finished his drink, set down his glass on the table, and stood up. “Time to face the throng of well-wishers, my good fellow. I’d join you if I could in your state of blissful, unthinking inertia, but duty calls!”

  “Alex?”

  Alex lifted his head and saw Beth standing at the open library door. Light from the wall sconces behind her bathed her in a golden aura. Dressed in white and sky blue, she looked like an angel. Saints, angels. He was always comparing her to ethereal beings, but she was flesh and blood, like him—only flesh and blood. Right now his flesh tingled, and his blood boiled at the sight of her. After what seemed an interminable pause, he commanded his tongue to speak. “I was waiting for the line to diminish. I’m sorry I’m late. Rude of me. But I couldn’t seem to—”

  “Who were you talking to?” she interrupted, looking curiously about the room. “Are you alone in here?” She stepped forward and closed the door behind her.

  If it had been any woman but Beth, Alex would have suspected a feminine trick to catch him alone. And if the woman were comely, Wicked Wickham would have obliged her with a kiss. To be sure, this woman was comely. But, alas, there could be no kissing tonight.

  Beth moved into the circle of light and smiled up at him, the dimple in her left cheek begging to be touched. “The line has finally disappeared, and they are about to strike up the music for the first dance.”

  In that moment Beth’s enjoyment of the party was ensured. She could float through the rest of the evening simply from the euphoria she felt as she stood close to Alex. She had hoped he would admire her, and he did. She could see it in his eyes. She could feel it, like a warm caress.

  She wondered if he could read her eyes, too. She hoped not, for his handsome image that evening would be imprinted on her brain till she’d breathed her last rattled gulp of air. Clothed or unclothed, the man was devastating. He stood just beyond the reach of the candles’ light. The outline of his superfine jacket, brocaded waistcoat, and smoothly sensuous pantaloons—all black—blurred into the shadows of the dark room behind him. His white cravat contrasted blindingly with his tanned face, his glossy hair, and the luster of his dark, fathomless eyes. Desire swept through her like a banshee—frightening, wild, and unearthly.

  Alex raised his brows. “If the first dance is about to commence, Beth,” he said in a strained, low voice, “then hadn’t you ought to be upstairs? I imagine you and Zach must lead out the set.”

  Beth clasped her hands nervously in front of her. “Zach said—and I agreed with him—that you should be there before the actual dancing begins. He … he wants to introduce you ’round to some of the guests. We both started looking for you, and I—”

  “And you found me,” Alex finished with a sudden brilliant smile that made her heart convulse with yearning. “Clever girl! You knew I’d be hiding out in some quiet corner, away from the crowd.”

  Beth’s happiness dissipated like mist on the moor. “Oh dear! Mother was right. You do think this whole affair too countrified, not as elegant as London. I know you’re used to something different, and I’m sorry you feel compelled to—”

  Alex caught Beth by the shoulders. She could feel his lean fingers pressing into her skin beneath the wisps of material s
erving minimally as sleeves. “Dear girl, you misunderstand me! This party is too like London for me. Every bit as elegant, every bit as …” He seemed to be struggling to find the right words.

  “Every bit as boring and stuffy,” Beth finished with a tremulous smile. How alike they thought! “But I suppose we must attend to make Mother happy, mustn’t we?”

  Alex smiled his relief at her understanding. “Generally I don’t dislike parties and dances, Beth. It’s just that I vastly prefer quieter evenings with people I really care about. For too long I had so few people I truly wanted to spend a quiet evening with. As a result, I was continually attending these sorts of affairs. Then I came to Cornwall and found …” Once again he hesitated. His fingers were gently kneading her shoulders.

  “You … you found your brother again,” Beth suggested with a little encouraging nod of her head, which made her long ringlets brush against Alex’s knuckles. “You were reunited with Zach.”

  Alex did not reply. He just kept looking at her, the tender—and strangely stricken—expression in his eyes hypnotizing. Then his gaze shifted, and he was staring at her lips.

  “So there you are! Beth, you found him in the library, of all places, when I was so sure he’d be in the billiard parlor!”

  Startled, Beth took a guilty step backwards as Zach strode quickly into the room. He was all smiles, spruce and handsome in his black evening clothes. If he’d noticed that she’d been standing quite close to his brother, it apparently didn’t bother Zach; his cheerful expression did not waver in the least. “Alex, we can’t start the dance without you! And I’ve the prettiest girl in Cornwall to introduce you to.” Zach caught Alex’s elbow and nudged him toward the door, pulling Beth along by the hand. “Her name is Lydia, and her father’s a rich viscount from—Good Lord, is that Charlie?”

  For the first time, Beth noticed the man lying on the sofa. It took just a glance to ascertain that the man was intoxicated, completely knocked out from too much drinking. He must have come directly to the library the minute he’d arrived at the house, because Beth could not remember meeting him in the reception line.

  “Who is he?” she asked as Zach leaned over the man and peered into his face, slapping him lightly on the jowls. “Goodness, why did he bother to come to the party if he was planning to cuddle up to a brandy decanter and snooze away the whole night?”

  “It does seem a bit irregular,” commented Alex. “Cupshot so early in the evening bespeaks an unsettled mind.”

  Zach straightened and sighed deeply. “Charlie’s got an unsettled mind, all right. Charles Laughton, Viscount Benbridge, is his name, Beth. I had not thought his state so bad as I’d heard or I’d not have troubled him with an invitation to our party. You see, he’s been reduced to this lump of pickled flesh as a result of an infelicitous marriage.”

  “How dreadful,” said Beth, sincerely sorry for the man. “What happened? Was he forced to marry someone his parents chose for him?”

  “No,” Zach returned dryly. “He chose his bride of his own free will. But I’ve no time now to repeat the sordid tale.” He reached for a quilted throw that was folded over the arm of a nearby rocking chair. “We’ll make him comfortable and return to our party. I’m afraid old Charlie won’t be dancing tonight.” Zach unfolded the throw and pitched it over his friend, tucking it securely about his unshod feet.

  Beth was curious about Charlie and his ill-fated marriage, but she agreed that they should return to the salon immediately. Her mother would be anxiously looking about for them. Perhaps sometime during the night she could dance with Alex. She cast him a surreptitious look from beneath lowered lashes. He returned her look, but this time she could not tell what he was thinking.

  The grand salon was lit up like Vauxhall Gardens during a fireworks display. Alex walked into the crowded room and was greeted by the usual odor of melting wax and a sundry—and slightly nauseating—mix of perfumes.

  “This is Richard Long, Alex,” Zach was saying as he moved his brother smoothly through the crowd. “Richard, my brother, Lord Roth.”

  “How do you do, Lord Roth?” The stout auburn-haired man bowed respectfully. Alex thought he heard a corset creak.

  “Very well, thank you,” Alex replied with a smile. “A pleasure to meet you.” Alex darted a look over the man’s shoulder toward the chair where Beth sat next to her mother, surrounded by girls her age, all of them laughing, simpering, preening. Many of them were staring at him boldly. One flirted openly, a petite blonde who batted her lashes from around the curve of an Oriental fan. He sighed.

  “And this is Lady Edyth, our nearest neighbor to the north.”

  Alex recalled his attention to the matter of introductions, and he found himself being thoroughly scrutinized by a tiny wizened woman of an incredibly advanced age.

  “Lady Edyth,” Zach addressed the woman in a loud voice, “this is my brother, Alexander Wickham, Lord Roth, from Surrey.”

  Alex took the woman’s cronelike hand and bowed. “Enchanted to meet you, Lady Edyth,” he murmured.

  “Eh? What did you say?” she cackled.

  “Enchanted to meet you,” he repeated much louder, speaking succinctly as he looked her straight in the eye.

  Lady Edyth appeared pleased, smiled broadly, and nodded her head in a jerky acknowledgment. “Posh! Enchanted? I doubt it, but the thought’s pleasing to an old woman.” Her words were muffled, and Alex realized that she was using plumpers, cork stuffing worn inside the mouth to fill out the cheeks. This fashion had been the mode some thirty years ago, but along with her powdered wig, Lady Edyth apparently had not abandoned it.

  Then, suddenly and miraculously, the blonde who had been some thirty feet away not more than a minute ago, was directly before Alex, hanging on the arm of a tall, stately man. After meeting her father, Viscount Hedley, Alex was introduced to “the prettiest girl in Cornwall,” Lydia Elmstead. At this point Zach suddenly decided that enough introductions had been made, and the small orchestra, ensconced in a corner of the oblong room, struck up the first serious chord at the nod of Zach’s head.

  The set quickly formed for dancing. Alex asked Miss Elmstead for the first dance. It was expected; in fact it would have been grossly impolite of him to behave differently, since the young woman stood resolutely beside him. The selection was a cotillion, and since Alex and his partner were almost at the bottom of the set, he had plenty of time to become acquainted with her before they actually danced.

  “So, Miss Elmstead,” he began, setting his mind to the task of conversing in an attempt to refrain from ogling Beth as she skipped lightly through the steps of the dance, “are you a close neighbor to Pencarrow?”

  Miss Elmstead tapped Alex’s shoulder with her fan, saying with an arch smile, “Indeed, my lord, I suppose you are asking me that because I do not exactly fit your idea of the country girl from Cornwall? I am—how do the French say it?—mal à-propos?” She threw back her head and laughed affectedly. “You may be honest with me, n’est-ce pas?”

  Alex immediately perceived that Miss Elmstead was as false as her laugh. This, perhaps, was the result of a weak intellect subjected to profuse flattery and indulgence. Too pretty and not wise enough to balance beauty with brains.

  Alex gritted his teeth, determined to get through the dance without uttering an uncivil word. “Then I must infer, Miss Elmstead, that you are a neighbor but do not exactly feel comfortable in your native surroundings? You prefer London, I suppose?”

  Again Miss Elmstead tinkled a laugh. “I would like nothing better than to be a habitué of London, and next spring I will be going there for my Season.” She did not say her first Season, since she probably expected to need only one Season in London to snabble herself a well-breeched, titled parti. Her blue eyes slanted in a sultry smile. “If you are in residence, will you come to my coming-out ball, or am I parvenue to be so bold as to ask you?”

  Alex smiled his public smile. “Indeed, Miss Elmstead, if I find myself in London in the spring, I sh
all be most happy to attend your ball.” Alex decided then and there to make quite sure that next Season’s genteel society would not count him among its numbers. What French phrase would she employ in her next sentence? he wondered.

  Several sets later, as Alex dutifully danced with young girl after young girl, with an occasional turbaned matron thrown in for good measure, he retired to the refreshment table for a glass of punch. The beverage was as unspirited as he’d expected it to be, but it was at least wet, and he tossed it down quickly.

  Then he cast his eyes about the room for Beth. They were well into the ball; supper would be served in an adjoining room within the hour. It would not be remarked in the least if he now sought out his future sister-in-law for a dance. Ah, there she was, sitting in an alcove with only two other females. And, conveniently, she was looking his way. She smiled. He advanced.

  It would not have been fair to say that all of the women he’d danced with that night were as vapid and shallow as his first partner. Three or four of them had been sensible enough, attractive enough, entertaining enough, actually quite likable. But they were not Beth.

  Finally he stood before her. He bowed. “Miss Tavistock,” he intoned formally, “would you do me the honor of joining me for the next dance?”

  Beth stood up and extended her hand while her friends looked on smiling. Alex sincerely hoped he’d danced with them already, but he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t think straight just now.

  “I should be delighted, Lord Roth,” she answered him demurely, but those mischievous eyes of hers twinkled merrily.

  They moved to the edge of the dance floor and waited for the music to begin. When it did begin, they looked at each other, startled. It was a waltz, the second of the evening, and Zach had quite appropriately partnered Beth in the first one.

  “Perhaps I should ask Zach’s permission? Maybe he wants you to save all your waltzes for him,” Alex suggested reluctantly.

  “Well, I don’t see Zach anywhere,” said Beth. Then she smiled, melting Alex’s reservations like cream on a hot scone. “Besides, you’re soon to be my brother. Next to Zach, you’ve the most right to dance the waltz with me, don’t you think?”